


Pre-Flight Checklist

by jiokra



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Cultural Differences, Extra Treat, Fluff, M/M, Stormtrooper Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-22 21:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9627161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiokra/pseuds/jiokra
Summary: As Poe sets off for a mission, Finn says goodbye by surprising him with a non-horrific stormtrooper custom.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zither](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zither/gifts).



Poe slipped on his gloves and stretched out the leather as C-3PO finished detailing him on the secret informants Poe was to find on Calcifer 3, a water planet with patches of islands and a seedy underbelly of smugglers beneath the seafloor. C-3PO’s informants filed a brief report that the smugglers were sending iron to the First Order. General Organa intended for Poe to uncover further intelligence.

“Don’t be too discouraged by their demeanor! They’re such pleasant company when not undercover, although I cannot guarantee a wholesome welcome! As you know, they take their roles in the Resistance quite seriously.” 

Poe smiled, clapping C-3PO on the shoulder and smirking. “So do we all, Threepio.” 

C-3po shifted, head twisting minutely. “Do be careful, Master Dameron.” 

“ _Please_. Careful is my middle—” 

BB-8 cut him off with rapid fire beeps as he rolled up past them. 

Poe hitched his elbow on the ladder against their washed out grey X-Wing, peering through the rungs at BB-8. “Coruscant never counts.” 

BB-8 ignored him, stopping beneath the astromech port and latching himself inside. 

The washed out ship was painful to the eye, however inconspicuous it was. But as always, the heart was all that counted. The ship was a T-65 powerhouse, with the original Incom 4j.4 fusial thrust engines and modified BB-unit astromech port transplanted from another T-65 with an exterior too busted to be fly, solely scrap fodder. Poe test flew the T-65 last week and got his elbows deep in that engine, admiring the mechanical integrity—and it was a majestic creature, fit for the destruction of Death Stars—before duty dragged him off to file reports. 

Behind him, spoken tentatively, he heard: “Poe?” 

It cut clear through the frantic thrum of engines firing up, wrenches clattering to the cement floor, mechanics bickering over optics. It was Finn, and despite the fact that Finn led a rescue mission into Starkiller Base and swung a lightsaber at Kylo Ren, for reasons Poe could not fathom that bravado didn’t exist off the battlefield. 

Smoothly, with that patented Bey charm he inherited from his mother, Poe turned on his heel and leaned against the ladder, setting a boot on a rung and raising an eyebrow at Finn. 

Finn’s eyes were wide, his face slack. Like clockwork, Poe’s languid demeanor had his tense countenance soften. _Atta boy,_ Poe thought, and admired the look of his jacket on Finn, even if he’d prefer for Finn’s fingers not to be worrying at the sleeves. 

Then C-3PO blurted, “Good afternoon, Master Finn!” 

Before Poe could flinch—he’d forgotten entirely about the droid—C-3PO was scuttling off toward the back of the X-Wing, shouting up to BB-8’s port, “I must inform you of how to greet our informants! They aren’t as polite as you!” 

Poe paid them no heed, tipping his chin to Finn. “What’s up, pal?” 

Finn’s gaze fell away before boring into him. “You’ll be gone for a week.” 

Poe shrugged. “Depends on when we find the droids. Could only be four days.” 

“Four days.” 

He glanced away again, and Poe got nervous. He hated not knowing what went on in Finn’s head. It could’ve been anything from a memory of the First Order or plain old nerves. Yet whatever the cause of the shadows in Finn’s eyes, Poe was in the dark. 

Poe stepped away from the ladder. “In a way, I’m looking forward to this. No one’s going to be around to steal food off my plate.” 

“Sure, Dameron, play it off like that,” said Finn, deadpan and a semblance of himself breaking through that agony he had greeted Poe with. “Rewrite history a bit more.” 

“I can’t help it that you haven’t had some of my favorites.” 

“ _Always_ the stuff you tell me I got to try, too.” 

“It’s just so good!” 

“You can _get_ your own.” 

Poe sidled up before Finn, punching his shoulder. “Rations, pal! Rations!” 

Finn shook his head and smiled gently. They simply stared at each other in silence. Dimly Poe was aware of C-3PO badgering BB-8, of wrenches clattering on cement, of mechanics chatting over engines. It buzzed into white noise muffled by the pulse in his ear growing vociferous the longer Finn kept staring at him. 

Then Finn hardened, brows drawn till the space between them creased. He stepped forward and crowded up against Poe, and shocked him by touching their foreheads together. Finn’s eyes were closed, and Poe, stunned, focused on the warmth of them touching. Poe’s gaze wandered across Finn’s face, admiring him so close. 

“Come back to me,” whispered Finn, breath tickling Poe’s lips. 

When his senses returned to him, Poe grinned. “That an order?” 

Finn’s lip curled, pinched at the corner as always when he stanched a smile. “I mean it,” he said, low and husky. He bit the corner of his lip, and Poe felt a pull in him to smother than bite with a kiss. “It doesn’t feel the same here without you, like the galaxy feels less full, or like something is missing from me I didn’t know was there until you’re away. Do you know what I mean?” 

His heart thrummed. “Yeah, I—I feel the same. I’ll come back, don’t worry.” 

Had he woken up that morning with the knowledge that Finn would be all but declaring his feelings for Poe by _starfighters_ , he would have tried to tame his hair a bit more. There hadn’t seemed to be a point in styling it when his head would be locked down in a helmet. He did a mental calculation for how long they’d stood there touching foreheads, far too long for this to be a social hiccup yet not enough to believe with certainty. Then Finn pressed further into Poe, whispering, “Come back.” 

Poe had literally dreamed of this moment last week. He awakened in an X-Wing during a long journey back to base, BB-8 flying while he dozed. He had felt so calm that he hadn’t minded the cramped cockpit. In the dream, Finn flirted shamelessly with him right after he landed the ship so smoothly in the hangar with the slightest turbulence. It was simple, cozy. And now it was halfway reality. 

He snorted. Finn jolted, and Poe couldn’t stop himself from laughing so he kissed Finn to prevent himself from further ruining the moment. 

Finn moaned, a soft, baffled hilt to it, and Poe snorted again, following that hiccup with a nip at Finn’s lips. Finn gripped the front of Poe’s orange flight suit, pulling Poe into his warmth and chest, and Poe felt another burble of laughter coming up, so he coaxed open Finn’s mouth to shove in his tongue. Only before he could, Finn broke away. 

Finn pressed his forehead to Poe’s again, shaking his head. “What was that?” 

“Kissing’s kind of hard to explain. I could show you again?” 

“No, I mean— Why did you…” 

Poe frowned. “I thought— Then what’s with this?” 

“With what?” 

“This forehead thing.” Poe glanced away, checking to see if anyone had noticed, and felt miffed to find the hangar continued as it were. 

Finn leaned away. “What’s weird about this?” 

Poe went to touch foreheads again, but Finn only stepped back. “It’s not weird!” said Poe, and he cringed at how affected he sounded. 

“It’s weird.” 

“Definitely not—” Finn fixed Poe with a sharp look, and Poe acquiesced. “It’s a little weird. But not in a _bad_ way— Okay, maybe it’s a good thing you did it with me first. You did do it with me first, right?” 

Finn nodded, jaw clenching. 

Poe itched to punch his shoulder. 

“Troopers did it in the First Order,” said Finn, mouth twisting. “I never, but others did. If troopers were close and going on separate missions, you did it because you can send images through helmets if they touched. You could look each other in the eye for once. Guess that’s another difference between the First Order and the Resistance. Should’ve known. I’m sorry.” 

Poe grasped his shoulder. “It’s cool. Probably not a good idea to do it with other people, but don’t apologize to me. I mean, it wound up working out better than anticipated, didn’t it?” 

Finn laughed, shaking his head and then letting it fall against Poe, foreheads touching. Finn swallowed. “I snuck in some extra fruit in the ration pack for you.” 

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I come back for this guy.” 

They stood there in silence, breaking away only when C-3PO returned and said, “I do apologize, Master Dameron, Master Finn, but the General has laid out a strict time table that we mustn’t ignore.” 

Finn sprung away from Poe, the worrying look back. 

“Duty calls,” said Poe. He grinned at Finn before rolling back his shoulders and cracking his knuckles. As he slipped away and set his foot on the first rung, Finn rushed to grab his elbow. Poe peered down at him. “Buddy?” 

Finn’s brow was set. “I’ll be monitoring your frequencies and vital signs,” he said gravely. “Night and day. My comm is always open for you.” 

Poe was flattered yet a tinge perturbed. “It’s standard protocol.” 

Finn looked him clear in the eye, stoic as he said, “I’m guessing that’s another stormtrooper thing.” 

Poe bit his lip. “Thanks, really.” 

Finn nodded. “Take care of yourself.” 

“C’mon. Taking care of myself is my middle na—” At Finn’s grave look, Poe quieted. “I’ll pretend you’re calculating the odds with BB-8 at all times.” 

Finn smiled. “Good.”


End file.
